


Five Times Ron and Draco Almost Had Sex (And One Time They Did)

by Lokifan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Five Times, Funny, Hand Jobs, M/M, Meet the Family, Past Character Death, Post-War, Weasley Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/pseuds/Lokifan
Summary: Ron’s bringing Draco back to the Burrow for Christmas in their eighth year. He wasn’t expecting this particular problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FangQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/gifts).



> This was written for Kinky Kristmas 2016, and for fangqueen.

**One: the Gryffindor dorm**

“This seems like a terrible idea.”

It wasn’t like they’d really had all that much sex. It was December, and they’d only properly got their shit together towards the end of the summer. And once other students had returned -- once he and Draco were back to being students themselves, rather than volunteers helping to rebuild -- they’d moved back to the house dormitories. 

Which could really cramp your style. And then you ended up frustrated and unable to focus on much else; that was perfectly normal and acceptable and not a sign you were a pervert. Which was what Ron told himself as he sat next to his trunk on his bed, watching Draco pace back and forth over the worn red carpet, not entirely able to focus on what Draco was saying. Draco was slightly flushed, his hands waving as he spoke, his jumper riding up with the gesture to expose a sliver of skin. Ron’s mouth went dry.

“What was I thinking? Ginny’s going to hex me to bits the second she gets the chance -- you know she will, she has a long history of cursing anyone who hurts her precious Potter.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Not to mention Potter himself! And your brothers will kill me in my sleep. They might even have a point, if it’s Bill.” Draco’s voice was strained as he said Bill’s name. He attempted an insouciant gesture, adjusting his jumper, and Ron’s heart squeezed.

“They won’t. Mum was really happy you’re coming.”

Draco gave him an expressive look.

“She was! You saw the owl.”

“Mmm.”

“She loves feeding people. And if Dad’s not happy, exactly, he’s trying to be. And you can’t back out now. You’ve said you’ll come. This is just a fit of last-minute nerves.”

Draco put his nose in the air. “A fit of last-minute _panic_ , Weasley. Get it right.”

Ron laughed and reached for him, overwhelmed for a moment that he could: that haughty Draco Malfoy came easily into his arms.

Draco brushed his pointed nose along Ron’s cheek, his hands moving down Ron’s back. Ron swallowed, knowing Draco could see the movement. A moment later he felt Draco’s mouth against his jawline, his neck.

Then Draco mouthed at his earlobe, because he was a horrible little cheat who’d use any tactic to get ahead. Ron moaned a little. Draco kept going, and Ron felt shudders begin; it wasn’t fair, how fast Draco could get his body revving. How the memories of all they’d discovered together were imprinted in his skin.

Draco snickered into his throat, and Ron reached up, clutching at his hair in both punishment and desire. Draco immediately went liquid, dropping towards the floor. Ron blinked. He hadn’t meant grabbing at Draco’s hair to be any sort of demand, but if Draco wanted to interpret it as a push for a blowjob -- it’d be awkward to interrupt, and anyway --

Draco’s mouth was on Ron’s hip, hot and teasing; his hands were at Ron’s fly. Ron groaned low in his throat, feeling himself harden. He stroked Draco’s hair back, looking down into his face. Draco looked up at him for a moment, his grey eyes gleaming over a wicked smile. Then embarrassment overwhelmed the attempt at sexy teasing, Draco not quite able to hold Ron’s gaze. He lowered his face back to what he was doing, and freed Ron’s cock. Ron felt the open-mouthed kiss on the head of his cock -- 

At which cosmically unfair moment he heard footsteps on the stairs. 

He jerked back, and only luck saved his sensitive parts from Draco’s teeth with the unexpected movement. Draco stood awkwardly, his own erection an unmistakable bulge. “Ron, what are you doing - were you about to come straight away or -- ”

“Shut up, shut up!” Ron hissed, desperately tucking himself away. Draco turned at the sound of Neville opening the door.

Neville’s eyes travelled from a rumpled Draco to a red-faced Ron, and down to Ron’s hands at his crotch. Ron felt himself cringe so hard he almost sprained something. 

Neville went red. Ron, glancing at Draco for help, saw him flush. But apparently he decided he was going to brazen it out, because he stormed forward, snarling. “What, here to get an eyeful, Longbottom? You pervy little voyeur -- ”

Neville straightened, scowling. “Oi, Malfoy, this is _my_ dorm. If you’re gonna get up to that sort of thing without even going behind the curtains God and McGonagall gave you -- ”

“‘That sort of thing’, you can’t even say it -- ”

“Stop!” Ron interrupted, because this could only lead to disaster. Both of them turned to look at him and Ron wished desperately for a pillow. A desk of convenient height. Anything.

“Neville, you’re right, that was stupid. We’re very sorry. Please don’t tell anyone. Draco’s sorry too,” he said loudly, as Draco opened his mouth.

Neville paused, then one side of his mouth turned up in a very subtle smirk. “Technically I should be punishing you. You’re not meant to be doing that sort of thing in the dorms, and I am... Head Boy.”

He let his eyes travel to Draco, and grinned faintly.

Then he grabbed a quill from his bedside table and went out again. Ron heard him clump back down the stairs over the roar of the pun Neville had resisted making. Draco was looking sour.

“Er. I’m gonna finish packing.”

 

**Two: the Hogwarts Express**

 

Ron wasn’t sure if Neville had told anyone and hadn’t had the guts to ask. He’d barely finished packing in time, even though he was leaving his trunk mostly empty for presents.

“Disorganised,” Draco said, pushing his shoulder.

“Your fault,” Ron said, pushing back. They clambered into the last carriage -- alone, since they’d been a bit late.

They’d have to find Hermione on the train. She was spending Christmas in London with her parents, since they were back. Harry had wanted to stay at Hogwarts. Ron had worried; he didn’t want Harry to feel pushed out by Draco.

“No, no,” Harry had said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I want to spend my last Christmas here with Hogwarts.”

Ron kept catching Harry stroking the old stone at odd moments, as if touching a beloved pet, or checking on a sleeping child. He thought Harry had been at least mostly honest about why he’d stayed. Ron could even understand; he’d been briefly tempted to stay as well. But he couldn’t do that to Mum. Not the first Christmas without Fred.

Ron swallowed, trying to force back the tightness in his throat, the pain swallowing his chest. He curled his hands into fists on his thighs. After a moment he felt Draco’s hand fold itself round Ron’s fist: not trying to uncurl it. Just there.

He glanced up at Draco’s face. Draco was looking straight ahead and his shoulders were stiff. Ron considerately didn’t say anything.

It helped ease the pain away, though; and after a minute, Ron managed to relax his hand and turned it palm-up under Draco’s, so that they were holding hands.

Ron was so glad none of their friends were in the carriage to see this.

They got onto the train in a hurry. “Let’s find the others,” Ron said, and Draco nodded.

“Not your sister, though.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be spending enough time with her during family Quidditch.” 

Draco winced, then attempted a smile. “Lovely.”

Ron laughed, and the smile dropped off Draco’s face. “Hey!” He turned, a little huffily, and led the way down the corridor between the carriages. The train swayed into motion beneath their feet.

“Sorry, sorry. You just -- you sound exactly like your mum when you try and be polite.”

“‘When I try’, how dare you. I’m always the model of good manners.”

Ron snorted.

“Shut up, Weasley.”

“Don’t sulk. Who wants good manners?” To illustrate the point, Ron reached out and squeezed Draco’s arse. Draco spun so fast he got tangled in his own feet. Ron reached out to steady him. Draco sniffed at him but didn’t pull away. Their faces were close together; the corridor was empty, and dim.

Draco surged into him, hands on Ron’s face, lips catching his. Ron sucked in a breath, startled. He hadn’t closed his eyes, and he caught the glint of lamplight on Draco’s pale lashes. After a moment his eyes dropped closed.

Draco pulled back after a moment, and muttered into the quiet space between them, “you know, I think we passed an empty carriage at the back.”

He sounded a bit shy, perhaps embarrassed by being so forward. The combination of eager kisses with that shy not-quite-meeting of Ron’s eyes made Ron harden so fast he thought he might sprain something.

They headed back down the train and tumbled into the empty carriage, kissing already. Ron couldn’t think. The world came to him in flashes of sensation: Draco sucking at his lower lip, Draco’s arse under his hands, the edge of the seat digging awkwardly into his thigh as they tried to find the right position to kiss. In the back of his mind Ron was aware that they were on the Hogwarts Express. They were surrounded by other students, they could be interrupted at any time - Draco’s chest against his, the line of thigh - this was a bad idea -

Ron couldn’t help himself. He smoothed his hand up Draco’s thigh and reached between his legs, rubbing at the bulge there. Draco’s kisses went clumsy as Ron touched him and it sent a shocking burst of pleasure through him. Ron pulled back, wanting to watch Draco’s eyelids droop, watch his reddened mouth open on a gasp. 

“Zip -- ” Draco muttered, reaching for his fly.

“Nope,” Ron said. “Someone could walk in, remember? We’re gonna stay at least a bit subtle.” He kept rubbing Draco through his trousers, hoping to keep him too breathless to argue. “We could just be kissing -- no one’s going to know what I’m doing as long as you keep quiet -- ”

Draco nodded, half-wheezing as he tried to stay quiet. Ron watched him flush, and wondered if he could get away with sucking a bruise onto his neck. They could tell his parents it was from Quidditch, surely?

A voice so arch it was De Triomphe sounded from outside. “Oh look, a closed door. Whatever could be happening inside?”

Draco went stiff in entirely the wrong way. “Pansy!” he hissed.

“I dunno,” came a deeper voice. “I thought you said Draco was in here.”

Draco sprang to the other side of the seat, well away from Ron, and frantically smoothed himself down. Ron dropped his head into his hands. “Yeah, we’re in here, Goyle,” he called.

The door opened. Pansy was beaming with the joy of making people uncomfortable, and Zabini was grinning behind her. Goyle looked stolid as ever to Ron’s eyes, but his small dark eyes caught Draco’s and Draco groaned, slumping down in his seat. “Shut up.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Pansy pointed out. Draco made a face at her. Ron took the opportunity afforded by the intra-Slytherin sniping to arrange his legs strategically. Nothing to see here.

“Honestly, you should’ve just used the Room of Requirement while you had the chance,” Zabini said with a smirk. “Or should I say the Come and Go Room?”

The room went abruptly airless. Draco was still, frozen in his seat as moving would aggravate some mortal wound. Goyle said nothing, but the pain in his face was clear; Ron looked away from it, somehow embarrassed by it. 

Pansy was the one to speak, her voice cold and sharp and vicious as an icicle, and sounding as likely to shatter. “Shut up, Zabini.”

“It was just a joke.”

Goyle shifted in his seat so that his shoulders went even more massive. Ron hadn’t seen him be physically violent since they’d all fought over Quidditch as first-years, but the threat was there. 

“Oh, as if that -- come on.” She stood and half-dragged Zabini up with her. He glowered but followed her out, leaving Draco and Goyle in a pained silence. Ron felt both on the outside of that circle -- he’d known little about Vincent Crabbe and hadn’t liked what he knew -- and breathless with the pain of empathy. Draco’s pale face looked the way Ron felt when he thought about this coming Christmas, the first Christmas without Fred.

But it felt like their duty to have fun, to laugh in the way Fred wanted everyone to. So after a very long and quiet minute, Ron swallowed and reached into his pocket. “Goyle, want a Chocolate Frog?”

Goyle blinked a few times and gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, Weasley.”

“Where’s my Chocolate Frog?”

“I’ve seen what your mum sends you. You don’t need any more sweets.”

Draco’s mouth fell open in exaggerated horror. “You ingrate, Weasley. I’ve seen you handing Potter his fourth bowl of treacle tart! I’m going to eat all your Christmas chocolate, you see if I don’t. _Draco, what’s happened? Where’s my stocking?_ And then you’ll cry -- hey, gerroff -- ”

Ron wrestled him into a hug with some effort: Draco was smaller but he fought like a weasel, agile and willing to bite. “Off, Weasley - ”

“No,” Ron said, laughing breathlessly. “I’m a Keeper, remember - ”

Draco clawed at Ron’s hands and wriggled free. Goyle cheered. But Ron’s reach was longer, and he pulled Draco back in before Draco could get out of range. “ _Sit._ Here’s some chocolate for you.”

“It’s squashed.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Draco subsided with a grumble. Ron crammed a third Frog - this one mostly fragments - into his mouth. They sat companionably watching the countryside flicker by for a while, before Ron got bored and demolished Draco at chess. Goyle told Draco that he only lost because those Gryffindors cheated. They were well into an obviously well-practiced tirade when Ron interrupted with a hex to give them lions’ tails.

Draco said, “I’d give you a massive snake somewhere but you’ve already got one.” For all that they’d been skirting the darkness on this train ride, Ron thought he’d remember it fondly.

 

**Three: Ron’s bedroom**

 

Ginny appeared as the train entered London. It puffed its way through to King’s Cross while Ginny and Draco eyed each other carefully, smiling like their teeth hurt. Ron was relieved when the train pulled in next to the platform, not least because Goyle’s look was frankly admiring and he didn’t want Ginny to punch anyone.

They stepped out onto the platform. Ginny levitated the trunks along, clearly enjoying being of age and able to do it. Ron searched for his mother in the grey December light, and found her: even through the grey strands, her hair was the colour of home. She looked tired but she was beaming as she bustled over to them. Ron bent down to get his cheek kiss, and hugged her. She hugged him back strongly, trying to be as solid as ever. Emotion tangled in his throat as he hugged her back.

Then Ginny was there and Ron stepped back to make room. He glanced at Draco and saw his face was pinched. He must be wishing his mum was there. Ron reached out and Draco let him tangle their fingers.

“Draco, dear,” his mum said. “We’re so pleased you’re visiting for Christmas.” She sounded a little hesitant, but not unwelcoming. Ron glanced at him in time to see Draco pull on a smile, and begin to make himself charming to his host in the way a pureblood should. It hurt a little, seeing the effort in Draco’s bright smile, the way he asked about her journey to the station and complimented her necklace. But it was a good sign, and there was some pleasure in the knowledge that Ron could recognise what was happening; it was hard sometimes, to know how much he really knew about Draco.

Draco spent the journey back to the Burrow charming Ron’s mother in between Ginny’s stories about winning at Quidditch. Ron spent it in a storm of mixed feelings. Apparently Draco’s last-minute panic was visiting _him_ when it was far too late to do anything about it.

Maybe this _was_ a terrible idea. Ron wanted his family to like Draco. It was an ache, to think of them disliking Ron’s boyfriend; and especially now, he couldn’t bear the idea that his brothers or Ginny might think he’d abandoned the family in favour of a Malfoy. And he wanted Draco to like his family; Draco understood about tight-knit pureblood families. He knew it was important. If they could all manage to get past everything, enough to be civil or even get on, it would be wonderful.

And Draco had agreed. All right, that was because his parents were recuperating and his mum hadn’t wanted him around the Manor; it was still full of Aurors and Mrs Malfoy didn’t trust them. (Ron had manfully bitten his tongue when Draco told him this.) But still. Surely it meant something that he’d come.

Draco got into the front seat in the car. Ron wasn’t sure if he was proving he could keep his hands to himself, focusing on charming Ron’s mum, or avoiding Ginny. (Or potentially all three.) Either way, they chatted about the journey back and Quidditch and the meal his mum had waiting, and it was almost easy.

“Your father’s going to be so excited to see you,” his mum said. “He’s sorry he couldn’t come to meet you -- he’s very busy at the Ministry, of course, working through all the Dark items -- er -- the Dark items confiscated from some of the Death Eaters.” Her voice went a little weak. Ron wished he could see Draco’s face.

“I’m sure he’ll be rushing home for some of your lasagna, Mrs Weasley,” Draco said brightly. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Suck up,” she mouthed. Ron rolled his eyes back at her. _He’s trying,_ he tried to say with his expression. _Leave him alone._

The thought of defending Draco all Christmas abruptly seemed exhausting. But he could do it.

Two streets from the Burrow Ron began to feel truly nervous. He’d seen the inside of the Manor. Sure, he’d mostly been terrified that Harry was going to be killed or unable to see from the horror of Hermione screaming, but he had seen it. Draco had grown up surrounded by opulence; by _space_. Ron’s home was crowded by people and furniture and stacks and stacks of shabby stuff, the archeological layers of nine people and seven childhoods. It had grown up higgledy-piggledy, patched together by magic, along with his family. What was Draco, from his home of white marble quiet, going to think?

The car stopped and Ron hopped out, rushing to open Draco’s door. He heard his mother cooing over this show of manners in the background, but didn’t glance away. He wanted to watch Draco seeing the Burrow for the first time; wanted to see his expression, unfiltered.

Draco unfolded himself from the cramped little car - they were both too tall for it really - and looked up at the house. Ron was startled by what he saw.

Fear. Subtle, but unmistakable in the grey eyes. Draco swallowed, then squared his shoulders and looked at Ron, finding a smile. “Let’s go and meet your family.”

“Gryffindor.”

“Ugh, you’re such a terrible influence.”

Ginny took charge of the luggage again and Ron’s mum bustled ahead of them towards the back door. Ron felt Draco crowd closer to him, walking closely enough that their knuckles caught. He didn’t say anything, but leant in himself. Their shoulders pressed together as they neared the house. The door was single file, but once in the kitchen Ron felt Draco press close to him again.

So he felt Draco tense when Ron’s dad walked in.

“Dad!” Ginny squealed. The trunks thumped to the floor, one after the other, as she forgot the spell in favour of hugging him. 

Ron glanced at Draco. His eyebrows were creased, his lower lip caught in his teeth. This wasn’t cute worry about meeting his boyfriend’s father; Ron looked down and saw that despite his long sleeves, Draco had the inside of his left arm pressed against his stomach, as if to hide the white scar of the Mark.

Ron wasn’t sure when Draco had last seen Ron’s dad. Maybe Flourish & Blotts when they were kids, and their dads brawled. Or maybe when he led a couple of Aurors into the Manor and found their secret room full of Dark magic. Ron didn’t regret telling his dad about that, but it couldn’t be a good memory for Draco, even if Lucius had put off arrest for another few years.

Ginny let go of their dad, and Ron gave him a hug instead. He was a little taller than Dad now, which still felt a bit strange. “Dad -- ” an awkward pause, why hadn’t he thought about how to phrase this earlier? -- “here’s Draco.”

“Yes. Good to see you, Draco.” His dad attempted a smile. They shook hands, and for all that Draco was only an inch or two shorter, he looked rather small.

“Thank you for having me,” Draco said, voice strained. “It’ll be great, being part of a big family Christmas.”

“Yes. I imagine it’ll be rather different from what you’re used to.”

Draco cringed. Ron leapt in. “Draco, let’s take our trunks up to my room.”

Draco gave him a look of frank relief. They went to Ron’s room and Draco yelped.

“The orange, the orange, it’s burning my eyes!”

“Shut up,” Ron said, laughing.

“No! Oh Merlin. Did you forget you’ve got red hair? Are you colourblind? That would explain a lot, actually -- ”

Ron pushed him lightly, and Draco collapsed theatrically onto the bed, pulling Ron down with him. Ron made an inelegant _oof_ as he landed, and Draco laughed. Ron narrowed his eyes. “You’ll pay for that.”

Draco grinned. “Oh, talk dirty.”

He rolled his hips, and his face was inches away, and his head was on Ron’s pillow and all of his body was under Ron’s. Draco leaned up to kiss Ron, and Ron pulled back with a groan. “No.”

“No?” Draco repeated incredulously. “This is your room, we can finally finish what we started. And I’ll get to shut my eyes to the terrible orange of it all.”

“Nope!” Ron rolled off Draco before he could give in to temptation. Draco stayed lying on Ron’s bed, rumpled and inviting, and Ron shut his eyes. “George is sharing with us and he’s coming back today, he’ll be in any minute.”

“ _What?_ ” Draco’s face was like thunder as he scrambled to sit up. “You have to be fucking kidding me. Why the hell is your brother sharing with us? Doesn’t he have his own bloody room?”

“He doesn’t want to sleep there. It was -- he shared it with Fred.”

Draco’s mouth formed a soundless, “oh.” He was still scowling, his arms crossed; there was a distinctly sulky set to his mouth. But he said, “all right. I understand.”

Ron paused. “Do you? I know you’re annoyed, but you can’t be horrible about this if he annoys you.”

Draco flinched. “You really think I’d -- ”

“No! No. It’s just… I know he pushes it too far sometimes, I do, and if you lose your temper… I just worry.”

Draco paused. His jaw was still tense, but he nodded. “I know. I promise.”

 

**Four: the broom shed**

 

Draco was apparently over any annoyance by dinner. Or possibly he was just channelling it in unexpected ways.

At first Ron thought he was imagining it. Draco’s pleased little moans when he took another bite of lasagna; the meaningful look as Draco sucked on a straw; Draco pushing his shirt and jumper sleeves up to the elbows when he _knew_ Ron had a Forearm Thing. Maybe it was all innocent and Ron was just being a pervert because he’d said no to Draco earlier, and the frustration was buzzing under his skin. 

Then he felt Draco’s socked foot stoke up his calf. _That_ had not been an accident.

Draco was looking at Percy, pretending to listen to him. Ron couldn’t even manage that; he was frozen in his seat as Draco’s foot slid higher. The family meal went on around them, cheerful and raucous, and Ron felt every muscle tense as he tried to stay still. Nothing to see here. No touch sliding along my thigh, and definitely no --

Ron squeaked. He felt his ears get hot but the general noise seemed to have covered the sound. Draco smirked. He was sinking lower in his chair, pale eyes wicked.

That was it. This was a recipe for disaster. “Anyone for chess?”

Groans erupted, but Bill took up the challenge. Draco looked ruffled, but not annoyed. Ron should’ve realised that meant it wasn’t over.

He and Bill set up the chessboard in the sitting room. Before long Draco appeared and dropped down next to Ron, leaning against him. Ron was grateful Draco was willing to face Bill. He knew Draco had sent him a letter before Christmas, and Bill had replied; Ron hadn’t wanted to pry, but Draco seemed far more comfortable around Bill than Ron’s dad.

Arguably too comfortable. Draco started leaning in to whisper advice, hot breath teasing over Ron’s sensitive ear. It was far more distracting than helpful, and Ron ended up losing. Bill cheered, and Fleur gave him a congratulatory kiss. Draco gave Ron a consolatory one, and George whooped.

Draco was polite about the camp bed he was sleeping in, and took his frustration out on a technically chaste but thoroughly mouthwatering process of getting into pyjamas. And he’d stolen one of Ron’s jumpers: he had a big R on his chest, like a mark of ownership. This was getting out of hand.

The next morning was Christmas Eve. They’d barely finished breakfast when Ron suggested Quidditch. Wholesome, cleansing Quidditch and the opportunity to get out some energy through sport: just the ticket.

“Great,” Draco said brightly, abandoning the frankly obscene things he’d been inflicting on innocent sausages. “I’ll go with you to get the brooms, shall I?”

“...Great.”

The broomshed was freezing. But that didn’t particularly matter since the moment the rickety wooden door shut Draco plastered himself against Ron’s back. “Thank Merlin. We’re alone.”

“We’re not. Ginny and George’ll be in in two minutes.”

“I’ll take that challenge.” Draco kissed his neck. Ron went weak at the knees, and his voice went tellingly breathless. 

“And if they tell Mum we were doing things in here?”

“Come on baby,” Draco drawled, low and slow. “Ride my broomstick.”

Ron burst out laughing. “Sorry, Draco. Way to ruin the moment.”

 

**Five: Percy’s room**

 

Charlie, Ginny and Bill beat Ron, Draco and George at three-a-side, mostly because Charlie caught the Snitch. But Draco and George seemed satisfied with their number of filthy fouls and Ron got a slow consolation kiss off Draco as they put the brooms away, so it was all in good fun. The two of them headed up the stairs to change. Draco paused as they reached the first floor, and Ron slowed with him. 

“Have I ever told you I love watching you play Quidditch?” Draco said, voice low. “You focus so hard, and you look so strong.” He looked a little flushed; Ron wasn’t sure if that was embarrassment from being so openly complimentary, or something else.

“You concentrate so hard at Quidditch, and you’re so fast, it’s sort of scary,” said Ron.

Draco looked up, his sly smile inches away. “Scary in a good way?”

Then he opened a bedroom door, and tugged Ron through. Ron was sure Draco didn’t remember which room this was: it was a random opportunity to put his hands down Ron’s trousers, to kiss his jawline and breath hotly against his neck. To finally get off. 

Ron pulled away from Draco’s busy hands. “No,” he said flatly. “Are you crazy? I’m not doing that with you in Percy’s bedroom. What is wrong with you?”

Draco backed off, frowning. “I’m just trying to have some fun,” he said. “You seemed to like it enough earlier. I thought you’d like the opportunity for some private time.”

“Not in my brother’s room, thanks.”

“He’s got a big book and some crumpets, he’s not going to interrupt us.”

“Not the point, Draco! You are such an only child sometimes.”

Draco scowled. “Fine. Sorry, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry,” Ron said with a slight sigh. “I know what you were trying for.”

They rejoined the others for lunch. Ron had relaxed, confident that Draco would back off trying to have sex for a while. And Draco did. But he seemed to have replaced flirtation with sulking.

He wasn’t rude to Ron’s parents or anything. He remained extravagantly polite to them, but that just made it more awkward, because his annoyance with Ron wasn’t subtle. Ron had never meant anyone who could project a silent pout into a yell the way Draco could.

After lunch, Ron tried cajoling Draco into playing chess again. Draco shook his head. He was sitting next to Ron on the sofa, but holding himself stiffly so that no part of his body touched Ron’s. “I’ll just watch.” 

Ginny laughed. “None of us are going up against Ron. We’ve learnt better. Bill’s win has to have been a fluke.”

“Hey!”

“Guys, come and look.” George appeared in the living room door holding a massive crate in an eye-popping shade of purple. “It’s the new samples for Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Hopefully this is what we’ll be selling come spring. April Fool’s is a big time of year for us!”

“Excellent!” Ginny said as the others erupted in interested noises and Percy shut his eyes wearily. She rushed over and helped George bring in the crate, lowering it to the floor in front of the fire. Ron joined them, helping lever off the top. Draco didn’t move, eyeing them from the sofa.

George pulled out a nameless purple potion and held it up. “Want to try a Weasley’s Wizarding Wheeze, Malfoy?”

Ron gave Draco a warning glance, but it was unneeded; Draco was eyeing the potion like it was a live snake. (Come to think of it, he’d probably prefer the snake.) “No thanks, Weasley.”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“Your definition of fun includes turning friends and family into a menagerie. I dread to think what’ll happen to me if I try something untested. I think I’ll stay an observer rather than a customer.”

“You didn’t mind coming to us for Peruvian Darkness Powder.”

Ron heard Ginny suck in a breath. Draco visibly flinched, curling into himself; but it was only a moment before he was uncurling like a snake, ready to strike. “The Vanishing Cabinet was -- ”

Seeing disaster ahead, Ron interrupted. “Draco, do you want to help me make tea?”

Draco’s head snapped round, eyes bright. After a moment he blinked, and a shoulder hitched in a shrug. “Alright.” They went into the kitchen and Ron expressed his feelings by banging the kettle around while Draco closed the door.

“I’m sorry he did that.”

“I’m sorry you stopped me. He of all people doesn’t get to be self-righteous about it. They sold me the bloody stuff, didn’t they? And the Cabinet -- I only worked it out because they shoved Montague in it.” 

Ron said nothing, not trusting himself. They made the tea in silence, Draco glowering from the other side of the room. 

“Would you stop sulking?”

Draco made a disgusted noise. “Would you leave me alone? I’m just trying to put up with your brother and his horrible box of tricks since apparently I won’t have sex as a distraction.”

“You don’t need a distraction half as much as he does.” Ron’s throat went abruptly tight and he turned away. He was so tired. Even when he didn’t know he was thinking about Fred, his brother’s absence sucked the energy out of him.

After a lonely moment, Draco wrapped himself around Ron again. Ron felt himself relax into the body heat; he hadn’t realised how much he missed Draco being willing to touch him. Draco holding himself small but significant inches away all day had been an absence too much.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said on a sigh. “He shouldn’t have said that. But you can’t do that.”

“Right,” Draco muttered. “No honesty about martyrs.”

Ron pulled away. “Don’t do that, don’t be sarcastic about that. I don’t say anything about your dad.”

Draco’s mouth twisted. Ron felt dread hit him. Draco visibly fought for control, mouth tightening and twitching, then swallowed. “I know.” His voice sounded a little strange. “And I know it’s not the same anyway; your brothers hurt Montague but they didn’t mean to kill him, not like…”

Ron sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I’m not… I don’t mean to bring that stuff up as a way of winning a fight.”

“No. That’s just a nice side-effect.” Draco’s voice was acerbic. He swept out with the tea tray and left Ron alone.

It wasn’t fair. They were both trying so hard and it still wasn’t enough to stop them hurting each other. Maybe if they were able to ignore their families in favour of each other it would be all right. But neither of them could do it; it was something they understood about each other.

Draco was distant for the rest of the day. Ron thought he was trying; Draco sat next to him at dinner, and offered to play Exploding Snap. But he wouldn’t touch him, and he snapped at Ron over tiny things, annoyance clear in his voice even as Draco attempted politeness. Ron wasn’t sure if he was being punished for the lack of sex or if Draco was avoiding temptation or if he was just hiding hurt feelings. George had noticed and begun to needle him, as well. Draco barely reacted, but his snapping at Ron became half-snarling.

Eventually they headed to bed. Ron felt his shoulders lose tension as they went upstairs, away from the possibility of an argument between George and Draco; hopefully Draco would be asleep by the time George came up.

“Thank Merlin,” Draco muttered. “Maybe he’ll sleep in his own bloody room tonight and leave us alone.”

“Draco.”

“Oh shut up. I’m not interested in hearing it again. I’m not rising to his bait, you might think I’d get credit and a blowjob for that.”

“Why are you being such an arsehole?”

“I’m perfectly polite to your parents, even though your dad hasn’t said a word to me.”

“But you’re being -- look, I’m not stupid and you’re not subtle. You think you’re being quietly annoyed with me but it’s really obvious you’re sulking.”

“I’m not a child. I’m not sulking, I’m keeping my temper and I’m trying to find distractions and be -- I don’t know, happy -- and you keep making it harder.”

“What, did you think we’d just be having sex the whole time? Why did you even come?”

Draco glared at him, made a helpless gesture, and stormed out of the room. Ron slumped onto his bed, feeling sick. He sat staring round his room: the dingy wallpaper behind old Cannons posters, the broken-down camp bed and second-hand schoolbooks. Maybe bringing Draco here had always been going to end like this; had always been going to get them sniping and fighting and expose the faultlines between them.

When they went to bed that night, Draco lay on his camp bed facing away from Ron. Ron stared at his tense shoulders, frowning. It was Christmas Day tomorrow, and he didn’t understand how they’d ended up here.

 

**And the one time they did: the bathroom**

 

Ron woke the next morning to George poking him. “Whuzzit?” 

“It’s Christmas!”

“It’s barely seven!”

“Well your boyfriend’s already up and out of here.” 

Ron sat up sharply, and saw Draco’s empty bed and undisturbed stocking. He was out of bed in a flash, leaving George alone with all three stockings: a dangerous proposition.

Ron moved quietly through the house. Doors were still closed, and he could hear soft snoring; even his mum wasn’t up yet to tackle the epic task of Christmas dinner. He went down floor after floor, hoping he’d find Draco coming out of the loo or coming back up with a glass of water. He tried to push the frantic thoughts out of his mind: what if Draco had gone home in the night, and this was his way of breaking up? What if he’d gone for a nighttime walk and got lost? What if one of the Wheezes samples had got loose in the night?

Ron’s feet hit the uncarpeted ground floor and he hissed at the chill of the stone. He moved towards the slightly ajar kitchen door and then stopped as relief swamped him: he could hear Draco’s voice, calm and not in pain.

Or not exactly in pain. Undistracted by Draco’s expression or anything else, Ron recognised the way Draco had been sounding for days; bright with not-inauthentic cheer, but strained. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come and help?”

“I don’t want you to worry about it,.” Narcissa’s voice was firm. “We’re coping; and I miss you terribly, darling, but I don’t want you here when the Manor is still full of Aurors and terrible memories. Oh, don’t look so worried -- your father and I are all right. He’s recuperating and we’ll be all right as long as we’re co-operating with the Aurors. I just don’t want you to stumble into trouble while they’re around.”

“I know.” The cheer had bled out of Draco’s voice, leaving the pain raw. “I miss you.”

“I’ll see you very soon, darling, all right? And I know you’ll have a wonderful Christmas with the Weasleys. They’re so… enthusiastic.”

“Yeah.” A pause. Ron held his breath. “It’s gonna be great. And I’ll conquer them all at Quidditch, just you wait.”

Narcissa laughed. “I know you will. Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Mum.” 

Ron heard the crackle of flames die out. He opened the door, not wanting to hide, and caught Draco as he turned from the fireplace, swiping at his face.

Ron’s stomach twisted. He went in for a hug before Draco could react to his presence and Draco shrugged him off irritably, his face turned away. He wiped at his face again with the sleeve of his jumper. Ron hugged him again, unable to help it, and this time Draco let him. He stood warm in Ron’s arms, letting Ron hold on, and after a moment hugged him back.

“Are you okay?”

Draco shrugged out of Ron’s arms. “Course.”

Ron looked at him for a moment, head tilted as he tried to work out what to say. The silence seemed to tug the truth out of Draco in itself: he muttered, “it’s fine. I mean, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ron nodded.

“Or think about it,” Draco added, words spilling out apparently despite his best instincts. “This is my first Christmas not with my parents, and it’s because Mum was worried about what’d happen if I went home. And Dad’s still - he’s not okay, and…” Draco’s voice went croaky.

Ron felt tenderness stab him, a physical ache. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco shrugged irritably, wrapping his arms round himself. Ron held himself back from another hug with difficulty. “I dunno. I mean I did.”

“I know, but I thought… you said it was fine,” said Ron, worried.

“Of course I did!” Draco said. “This is your first Christmas without your brother. This -- my wanting to go home to Mummy and Daddy really doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” Ron said, his voice rising.

“No! Look, I’m really, really trying not to be selfish, all right? I’m trying to learn, and to stop putting my family ahead of everyone else in the world as if they’re the o-only people who matter.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t at least _tell me_ when something hurts, you absolute nutter.” Ron seized Draco by the shoulders, peering into his face. Draco scowled, flinching from the close attention, and shoved his face into Ron’s chest. Ron let him hide.

“Don’t tell me off about it, I’m still getting to grips with it all. I know it all comes easily to you with your family of people pawing at each other…”

“We love that,” Ron agreed, laughing, and proved it by lowering one hand to Draco’s bum. Draco yelped at the squeeze and Ron laughed.

“Tease,” Draco muttered. He didn’t sound half so resentful, though. He followed Ron back up to their room docilely enough. 

And didn’t seem to notice the Extendable Ear Ron saw hanging over the bannister.

 

Ron’s suspicions were confirmed over Christmas dinner. Ginny had stopped eyeing Draco like he was a scorpion she might step on; George didn’t needle him at all. Ron’s mum was behaving exactly the same way, but they wouldn’t have told her that they’d been listening in on a conversation between Ron and Draco. But they had been, and they’d heard how hard Draco was trying despite his own hurt. It was the only explanation.

Thank goodness Draco didn’t seem to have noticed how dramatic the change was. He was smiling more as the meal went on, his shoulders relaxing in his expensive-looking shirt as he ate the amazing roast potatoes and people laughed at his imitation of the Minister.

Then Ron’s dad offered a (Weasley Wizarding Wheezes) cracker to pull across the table. Ron hissed in a breath, knowing Draco would rumble things now: Ron’s dad had been barely civil the whole time. Draco glanced over at the sound, and at Ron’s expression confusion became realisation in the clear grey eyes. Draco mouthed, “Extendable Ears?”

Ron nodded, wishing he had less of a thing for clever people.

Draco turned back towards Arthur and for a moment Ron feared it was all about to go to pieces over Christmas dinner. But he should’ve known better: Draco was far too upper-class English to actually discuss it. Instead he grinned and reached across to pull the cracker. 

He jerked it back hard, and won. A bright purple firework exploded forwards into Arthur’s face. Glitter and smoke went everywhere. When it was finished Arthur’s face was blackened but smiling, and Ron ceremoniously crowned Draco with the paper papal hat inside.

“Malfoy is your king,” Draco murmured, and smiled.

 

Boxing Day wasn’t half the laze-a-thon Ron might have hoped for; they were having a party, and the day was spent on prep. Draco and Ron were put on food duty, which turned out to mean Ron chopped cucumber and carrots while Draco graduated from smirking as he held up a carrot to peel it to actively fellating various vegetables. 

Ron chopped the head off a carrot and Draco winced.

They moved onto making eggnog. Draco moaned as he tried each successive batch.

They helped rearrange chairs. Draco found it necessary to stretch himself flexibly all over the place, not to mention bending over as often as possible. At one point he folded himself over the arm of the sofa, arse in the air. He glanced over his shoulder flirtatiously, and smirked as he no doubt saw Ron’s ears turning red. At this point Ron decided he’d had enough.

“Let me help you with that.” He folded himself over Draco, using his greater reach to grab the bit Draco was reaching for. He felt Draco go rigid under him and snickered softly into Draco’s shoulder.

He jerked back at the sound of footsteps. Draco didn’t move except to carefully angle his groin away from the door.

 

By nine o’clock that night the party was in full swing. Draco was a little flushed from eggnog and the press of people, and his eyes were bright. Ron was trying not to notice and chanting _one week til we’re back at Hogwarts, one week til we’re back at Hogwarts_ in his head. He was going to find an empty classroom with Draco and not come up for _days_.

Draco muttered something.

“Sorry?”

Draco took the excuse to lean in and whisper against Ron’s ear, lips just catching it. “I said the nut mix is nice.” 

“That did not need to be so breathy,” Ron hissed.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco said, not looking at him. A moment later he pinched Ron’s bum.

“You -- !” Ron cut himself off as he saw a few neighbours glance in their direction. “Never mind. I need some air.”

“Me too.”

They sidled past laughing people and made their way into the hall. It was empty for the moment and Ron took a relieved breath of the cooler air. “Now I can hear myself think.”

“Thinking is overrated,” Draco said and pulled Ron into the loo. Before Ron could react Draco had slammed the door shut and locked it. He turned to Ron, grinning.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?” Draco kissed him. Ron fell into it, stroking a thumb up Draco’s flushed cheek, then sliding his hands into Draco’s hair. Draco moaned softly, letting Ron pull his hair a little, controlling the pace of the kiss. Draco walked forward a little, pushing Ron against the wall. They broke apart for a moment, their breathing loud in the tiny space.

Draco’s eyes were close, and uncertain. “Are you -- do you want to? I’m sorry I pushed before, we don’t have to. It’s just things are better now and I really -- ”

“Me too,” Ron said, and proved it by plunging his hands down the back of Draco’s trousers. He squeaked, snuggling closer against Ron. Their bodies were plastered together in the small space and Draco was making pleased noises as Ron squeezed his arse. Draco’s hands were all over Ron’s chest and shoulders, sending little shivers through him. It felt like it’d been years.

Draco undid Ron’s zip. It was awkward for a moment and Draco swore. “Why did we go Muggle to this party, Weasley? I don’t understand bloody -- got it!”

“Yeah you do,” Ron said, voice going hoarse as Draco’s urgent hands reached his cock. He pulled his hands out of Draco’s tight trousers with difficulty, giving Draco room to manoeuvre. 

Draco dropped to his knees. There was barely enough space, squeezed against the sink as they were. But it didn’t matter; Ron felt his heart pound, his thoughts fizzing away to nothingness as Draco pulled out his cock. Draco’s eyes were full of need; they closed as Draco’s hot mouth found the head of Ron’s cock.

Ron groaned. He bit the back of his hand to stop any more noise, but couldn’t stop himself dropping it again. He wanted to watch Draco’s flushed face, his swollen mouth working Ron’s cock. Draco was making little noises, his every fervent movement full of desire. He _wanted_ to do this, so much, and it was bending Ron’s brain.

Someone knocked on the door. “You all right in there? It’s been a bit.”

Draco froze, still sucking. Ron choked on nothing, then managed to find his voice. “Fine!”

“Are you sure? You sound a bit funny.”

“Just hoarse! You know. It’s the time of year.”

“Just _whores_?” Draco hissed. “What are you trying to say?”

“Hoarse!” Ron boomed in a panic. “You know. Winter cold and such.”

“All right.” The nameless person drifted away. Ron and Draco looked at each other in panic, then burst out laughing.

“Ssh!” Ron said, trying to keep quiet himself. “If they hear you - ”

“They won’t.” Then Draco’s head was bobbing again and every long, slow suck was liquefying Ron’s brain. Every muscle was drawing tight; need was blinding him. And then it hit; he came in long shudders, pleasure wracking him, his clenching hands in Draco’s hair. Draco stayed, swallowing, sucking gently through the aftershocks as Ron shivered.

Draco stood and Ron kissed him. Draco gave a low moan as Ron nipped at his swollen lower lip.

“Come on,” Ron muttered, rearranging them. Merlin, why was he so tall? But then he had Draco where he wanted him: facing the mirror, staring into his own lust-darkened eyes, with Ron behind him pulling Draco’s trousers open.

Ron watched Draco’s face in the mirror as he curled his fingers round Draco’s cock. Draco’s eyes dropped closed, his shoulders shivering against Ron as Ron began to stroke him. Ron’s whole body felt hot as he watched Draco react to every movement, feeling Draco shudder against him as he got closer. Draco was biting his lower lip, clearly trying to stay quiet. Ron kept going, relentless; he reached round with his other hand, playing with Draco’s balls. Draco squeaked. His eyes flew open, and he looked up, meeting Ron’s gaze in the mirror. 

“Hey Ronniekins, are you coming?” George said through the door.

“What?” Ron said. “No! I mean yes. In a minute!”

Draco was silently laughing, folding forward as he tried to contain himself. Moment wrecked. Draco’s arse pressed against Ron’s spent cock and he hissed. This should’ve been a beautiful moment and it was all falling apart.

“I can’t see Draco.” It was bloody Ginny now, her voice arch. “Have you seen him Bill?”

“Nope. Definitely haven’t seen Draco.”

Draco’s shoulders were heaving as he wheezed. Ron wanted to die. Or possibly for all of his siblings to.

“Why don’t you go and look for him!” Ron said, panicking. “Outside maybe!”

“No, I don’t think he’s an outside sort of person,” said Charlie loudly.

“Hey!” Draco called back, while Ron went into paroxysms. “I play Quidditch!”

Cheers greeted his voice. “Ron, we found him!”

“ _Fantastic._ ”

“Okay, see you later then,” said Percy. Ron half-collapsed against Draco with the relief as he heard his siblings disperse.

“Merlin’s bloody underpants, that actually happened.”

“Has anyone ever told you you swear like a twelve-year-old? Wait, not the point,” Draco added hurriedly. “The point is, that did definitely happen but before you have your crisis can you please finish getting me off?”

Ron wrapped his hand round Draco’s cock again, moving fast, almost roughly. “You bet I can. Let’s make it quick before I take my vow of celibacy.”

“D-don’t even,” Draco said. “Don’t eeeven joke about that. It’s been hard enough surviving th-this long.”

Ron could hear it in his voice: he was close. Sure enough, barely a minute later Draco groaned, low and wavering, every muscle gone taut. Ron kept stroking him, watching Draco fall apart for him, flushed and shivering and helpless.

For a minute or two they stood together, quiet but for their panting breaths, while they recovered the ability to walk. Then Draco turned and cleaned Ron’s hand with a spell.

“Now that’s true love,” Ron said, grinning. Then he realised what he’d said. “I mean. I didn’t mean. Er.”

“Please be quiet. I’m going to get into trouble if your head explodes.” His eyes lit up and Ron groaned.

“Don’t you dare use a pun right now. Merlin, I had no idea your sense of humour was so unsophisticated.”

Draco sniffed. “That’s because you’re oblivious. It’s always been perfectly obvious.”

Draco preceded him out of the loo. Ron followed when the coast was clear. “True, now I think about it. Maybe you can learn to get on with George after all.”


End file.
